A bit of news
by magfreak
Summary: Sybil has big news to share with her family. They think they know . . . do they? A Secret Santa fic for Mosteyn.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first part of a Secret Santa gift for mosteyn! The second will be up in a day or so. I'll post the prompt when I post the rest of the story as I don't want to spoil it, but this is a Sybil Lives AU, in which only Sybil lived. Most everything else happened as we saw it, so the Bransons are living in Downton village in the agent's house and Sybil is working as a nurse at a hospital in Ripon._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Christmas Eve, 1926**

Sybil stared at the door across the room from her as if trying to will it to open. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this nervous. It seemed silly to her that she was, but she couldn't help it. What the doctor on the other side of that door would tell her would change her life, one way or another. This much she knew, so she just wanted to get on with things.

But she also wanted him to say, "Yes."

So she waited.

—

 **The night before**

"On Christmas Eve?"

Tom looked at Sybil as he changed into his night clothes, wondering why his wife had agreed to go into the hospital that day knowing that they'd be expected at Downton Abbey for the family's usual holiday gathering.

Sybil smiled at Tom's question, already in bed with a book on her lap. "Ill health doesn't take holidays, I'm afraid."

"I suppose not."

"And I only agreed to work the morning. Dear Agnes was kind enough to cover my shift when Sybbie was ill last month. Giving her an extra half-day when she'll be short staffed this evening is only fair." Sybil paused and watched Tom as he removed his undershirt, appreciating the broadness of his back. He turned to her as he pulled an old henley over his head, and his hair fell over his face. He was due for a hair cut, but Sybil would never be the first to suggest it, always loving the feel of his thick hair between her fingers.

"And anyway, I have to go see Dr. Weston anyway," Sybil added, looking down trying to seem casual about it.

Tom pulled at the sheets and settled in next to his wife, watching her and sensing her nerves.

"Are you nervous?" he asked quietly.

Sybil turned to look at him. "Are you?"

Tom sighed, not sure how to answer. "I suppose I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little. Not because it wouldn't make me terribly happy, mind. It's only that our life—"

"Is rather perfect?"

Tom smiled. "It'll always be perfect as long as you and Sybbie are happy, and after everything . . . having to leave Ireland, everything you went through when Sybbie was born, deciding what to do about work for me."

"And then work for me, settling into this house," Sybil continued for him.

"Point is, we've made something so good. Whatever he says, there will be adjustment."

"But we'll adjust."

Tom sat up to more easily kiss her. Sybil leaned into the kiss with a sigh. He pulled away slightly. "You're absolutely right. It will be wonderful, so why does it seem like you're nervous?"

Sybil laughed. "I can't help it."

"Do your parents know we won't be joining them for luncheon then?"

"Yes, and they were disappointed but I told mama and Mary I'd have news to share when we arrived. That seemed to pacify them."

"Will they have seen this coming?"

Sybil laughed again. " _They_ think so."

Tom leaned in for another kiss when a clatter in the next room made them both start.

"MUMMY, I NEED YOUR HELP!"

"Someday that child will go to sleep at a proper hour," Tom said, moving away from Sybil and plopping down on his pillow with a laugh.

"Someday," Sybil replied. She put her book back on her night table and yelled out, "JUST COME IN HERE, DARLING!"

Sybbie ran into the room and jumped on her parents bed with a great sense of urgency. Tom laughed as she saw her getup. One of her mother's nursing caps was askew atop her head, an old kitchen apron was tied over her nightgown and she was holding a rather large teddy bear whose stuffing was coming out its belly, the fabric of which had been cut open.

"I had to operate," Sybbie said in the most serious voice she could muster.

Tom watched with a smile as Sybil also put on a serious voice, putting the teddy bear between them.

"I see that, Doctor Branson. A very serious case, indeed."

Sybbie nodded earnestly. "Yes, but the bandages are not keeping him together. I'm afraid he needs stitches."

"It is rather a large incision," Sybil replied, trying to retie the small sash Sybbie had wrapped around the teddy. "There, that's better. Why don't we leave him to rest now and complete the procedure in the morning."

Sybbie frowned. "If you say so, nurse, but—"

"No buts, Dr. Branson, it's past your bedtime," Tom cut in.

Sybbie frowned.

"I think daddy's right, doctor."

"Daddies are not allowed in the operating theater!"

Sybil laughed and moved to stand up, pulling Sybbie and teddy up with her. "Let's go see to our patient."

Tom smiled as he watched them go. Life was pretty perfect, tomorrow's news would only make it more so.

—

 **Christmas Eve, a brief while later**

"Really?"

Dr. Weston smiled brightly. "My congratulations to you, Nurse Branson."

Sybil thought she might cry.

"I suppose this will be a very happy Christmas," Dr. Weston said. "Why don't you go enjoy it with your family."

"Happy Christmas, Dr. Weston," Sybil said, shaking his hand and then taking her leave.

She could have skipped all the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

_OK, so waaaaay back in 2018 when Yankee Countess was rounding people up to do a Tom and Sybil Secret Santa, I signed up thinking I had all kinds of time. Then, my work life turned upside down and I could barely hold my head up from all the stress. I started the story and never finished because I suck and because the effect of work stress on my life was so overwhelming it took this long to get to a point where I even felt like writing again._

 _Anyway, although I am not 100 percent there, mentally/emotionally, I at least managed to realize that I do want to complete all my stories, and this one really REALLY needed to be done, since it was meant to be a gift for someone. You've heard of Christmas in July, right? Well, here's a chance to celebrate with the conclusion of this Christmas story. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Meanwhile, over at Downton Abbey . . .**

"So when is Sybil getting here?" Edith asked as the family walked through the main hall to the drawing room after luncheon.

"Soon, I think," Cora said. "She said it would be in the afternoon. She wanted to make sure Sybbie had time with George and Marigold."

"Why couldn't they join us for luncheon?" Bertie asked, as he and Edith sat down together on the long sofa and everyone else—Robert, Cora, Mary, Henry, Violet, Isobel and Lord Merton—all settled in around them.

"She had to go into the hospital," Mary said.

"She had to work on Christmas Eve!" Violet exclaimed. "What a terribly run hospital. Pity she decided to leave the one at Downton."

Isobel snickered. "Violet, surely even you understand that people don't stop getting sick just because it's Christmas."

"Those people should learn to take better care of themselves!" Violet retorted.

"Not to worry, granny," Mary said. "I don't think she had to work, just see the doctor herself."

"Why is that!?" Edith asked, rather alarmed.

"They'll tell us why tonight," Henry answered with a sly smile and a wink at Mary. "Tom's been dropping hints all week about it."

Cora looked back and forth between Mary and her husband. "Do you know something we don't?"

"I'm sure I know all kinds of things you don't know, mama," Mary said archly.

"Don't be coy, darling," Henry said with a smirk. "We don't know anything, to be honest, but Mary guesses that Sybil is expecting."

Everyone in the room gasped.

"Is that really wise?" Robert asked. "After all the trouble she had with Sybbie?"

"There was difficulty, to be sure," Isobel said, "but every pregnancy is different. And the outcome of one never predicts that of the next."

"I, for one, am glad," said Mary said. "Sybbie, George and Marigold are all close in age. I wouldn't want Mary Margaret to ever feel left out, and now she won't."

Cora smiled knowingly. "I hardly think Sybil and Tom are having another child simply for your new baby to have a companion, dear."

"I hardly think so either, mama," Mary said with an eye roll. "I'm merely celebrating a happy coincidence."

Edith felt Bertie's hand squeezing hers and smiled. "And actually, we—"

But before she could get the rest of her words out, Carson entered the room to announce the arrival of the Bransons.

Edith and Bertie looked at each other with a smile before they stood with everyone else as Tom and Sybil came in all smiles.

"Hello, darling," Cora said, greeting her youngest daughter. "You look positively radiant."

Henry laughed to himself as he watched Mary purse her lips, knowing why Cora had used that particular word. Mary might know what was in store, but she would still allow her sister to offer the news herself. Their mother, it seemed, was ready to have it out.

Sybil only laughed, though, and said, "You are too free with your compliments, mama. We have had quite a morning."

"And where is Sybbie?" Robert asked. "She usually puts up quite a fuss about not being allowed to come into the drawing room."

"A girl who wants to be where the action is," Isobel said, "is a girl after my own heart."

Tom smiled. "Going to the nursery does usually take some convincing, but she was quite agreeable about it today."

"I reckon she is up to something," Sybil said. "But I am too happy today to give her usual mischief much thought."

"Is that so?" Cora asked pointedly.

Edith laughed. "Why don't we all sit down. There is much news to share, I think."

Sybil walked over to properly greet Edith and Bertie. "If anyone is glowing here is you, darling," Sybil said embracing her sister. "The life of a marchioness agrees with you."

"Indeed," Bertie said, smiling at Edith. "And the marquis would be lost without her."

"Mary tells us you have news, Sybil," Violet said. "Let's have it now. You know I am not one for prolonged suspense."

Sybil laughed and looked at Tom, who came over to where she had sat down and took her hand.

"I'm not entirely sure what you will all think about this—or whether you will all approve, but . . . well, I've been named Sister of the surgical ward at my hospital!"

Sybil hadn't expected her family to throw her a party. Most of them still didn't understand her desire to work—but she hadn't expected complete silence either.

Tom stepped up, putting his hand on the small of Sybil's back to reassure her. "It means she's been promoted," he said, smiling. "She'll be in charge of all the nurses in the ward and handle the most delicate cases. . . . It's quite a feather in her cap, really." Looking over at Sybil with a proud smile, he added, "I'm a very proud husband."

Isobel was the first to snap out of the shock and walked up to Sybil and took her hands in hers. "Well done, my dear. I know how hard you've worked. It's a well-earned honor."

Sybil beamed at the praise, knowing that Isobel understood what it meant to her the most. "Thank you."

Isobel turned back to everyone else and then to Sybil and Tom again. "Don't mind everyone. They were expecting news of a different nature."

"I thought you were going to tell us you were pregnant!" Cora said.

"What?" Sybil and Tom responded at the same time.

"Well, it was Mary who was convinced," Robert said. "But I for one am glad this is your news—and happy for you, of course."

Sybil exchanged a surprised look with Tom, but he—unlike Sybil—knew how much Robert had quietly suffered in the aftermath of Sybil's complicated labor and recovery when their daughter was born. Fear for a loved one's life, when mixed with regret, made for a powerful mix of emotions. If the result was that Robert would support Sybil's career in favor of not having to worry that he'd lose his daughter again. Well, that was rather like icing on the cake.

"Does this mean you can assign others to work on the holidays?" Violet asked. "Because that would be nice for you, dear."

Sybil laughed. "I am in charge, Granny, but I intend to be democratic in how I parcel out assignments, if you don't mind."

"I mind everything, darling, but I suppose you know best. I _am_ happy for you."

Sybil thought it funny that the two people least understanding of her desire to work could have grown to be so accepting, but she welcomed their change of hearts. Eventually, everyone else congratulated Sybil, and sincerely so. As they were about to settle back into their chairs and idle chatter, Sybil came over to her mother and Mary.

"You two seem especially disappointed in me," Sybil said.

"Never, my darling," Cora responded, "but when the prospect for another grandchild is dangled before me like that—well . . . are you going to have more children?"

"Honestly, mama, if another comes along, it'll be a welcome surprise, but we're very happy with our life now, and Sybbie certainly doesn't lack for friends of family."

"And mama—" Edith tried to cut in, but was herself cut off by Mary.

"Your hints at news this week were rather vague, so I am a foolish wishful thinker, I suppose, but I do hope Mary Margaret doesn't feel alone when her cousins are so much older."

"I think we can help with that," Bertie said finally, firmly and loudly enough that their message wouldn't be run over yet again.

Cora's face lit up again. "Do you mean _you_ are expecting?"

"Yes, mama," Edith said with some relief. "And before—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Everyone jumped at the sound of the piercing scream.

"What in heaven's name?" Robert exclaimed and ran out the door and into the great hall with just about everyone following after.

Carson was coming at them from the opposite direction. "Is everything all right, my lord?"

"That wasn't us," Henry said, coming up behind Robert.

"I think that was upstairs," Mary said, already running up the stairs to look after Mary Margaret, with all but Violet and Isobel coming up behind.

As the group got to the top of the stairs, a housemaid came running at them, her apron a deep, dark red.

"Oh, my god! What's happened?" Mary said, picking up speed as she ran to the nursery.

Everyone who had followed caught up to her at the door, and they all stepped in to see Sybbie, George and Marigold running around, red dripping from various spots on their clothes. They were holding what looked like pillow cases, waving them above their heads like flags. The fabric was spotted with the same red color that, now more clearly visible next to the pristine white of the linens, was clearly too bright to be blood.

In that moment, nanny came into the room from the other end, where she'd been putting Mary Margaret down for her nap. "Children! What in heaven's name!?" Seeing all the adults there, she added, "I've been gone less than five minutes—I swear it!"

Mary grabbed George as he ran by her and immediately started looking for the source of his bleeding—just in case. Likewise, Edith lunged for Marigold as soon she'd stepped into the room, and although she quickly ran her hands up and down her daughter's arms and legs to see if she really was hurt, Edith also noticed that Marigold began to laugh.

"That tickles," Marigold said in a giggle.

Indeed, all three of the children were laughing, and no sooner had Sybil and Tom realized that this was the case, they both looked at Sybbie with a stern expression, trying very hard not to laugh themselves. Sybbie was wearing her nurse's cap but seemed to have forgotten whatever "medical emergency" she might have been trying to rectify in her game over her cousins' preference to merely run around laughing after showering themselves with whatever substance she'd provided to substitute for blood.

"All right, darling, where is it?" Sybil said.

Sybbie twisted her mouth into a scowl realizing their fun was over, but still opened her hands for her parents revealing a now empty jar of red ink.

Unable to hold it in any longer, Tom laughed and said, "We've found the source of the wounds, everyone."

"What is it?" Henry and Bertie asked together.

Tom held up the red ink bottle, and realizing what had been going on the three men laughed together. "I'm afraid it's a chronic condition, common in children," Tom said. "Boredom too potently mixed with imagination."

"The source of the wounds are there," George said pointing an accusatory finger at his pile of toy soldiers.

"We were playing hospital, mummy," Sybbie said, "But George thought we ought to have a battle first and that seemed fun."

"Why would you take out our finest linens!" Carson said aghast.

"It's a hospital!" Sybbie responded, equally incensed at the butler's own failure to see the logic in it.

"Our sincerest apologies for the mess, Carson," Sybil said, trying not to smile. "We will do the cleaning up. We are well practiced in this area, I'm afraid, despite the many, _many_ times Mr. Branson has been asked to keep his office supplies under lock and key."

Carson looked at Tom from the side of his eyes as Tom continued laughing, happy to serve as the scapegoat and knowing Carson was also only too happy to blame him for everything, even after all these years.

"Never mind," Carson said, explaining his preference to ensure himself the job of cleaning up would be done _right._

In an attempt to appease the peeved Carson, and keep the peace in the household, Mary prodded George. "Go on, darling." Giving his mother a look that suggested he'd much have preferred to be allowed to go on playing, George stepped up to the butler and said, "We're sorry, Carson," and handed off the pillow case he was holding. Marigold and Sybbie did the same, and with the line of culprits standing in front of him, looking up at him like the picture of childhood innocence, even Carson couldn't hold his frown.

"I shall have these cleaned and returned to the Army hospital in short order," he said, in his serious voice.

Sybbie put her hands on her hips and nodded her approval. "Very good, sir. The hospital thanks you."

The story was relayed to Violet and Isobel and became a story told at every Christmas.


End file.
